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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917140">The Awakening</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonLeCrabe/pseuds/LemonLeCrabe'>LemonLeCrabe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer Fantasy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Psychopathic Main Character, Undead / Human relationship, shifting pov, vampires are evil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:36:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LemonLeCrabe/pseuds/LemonLeCrabe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The spawning pools of Huatl are active after a millennium and a young slann lord takes interest in a seemingly mundane skink that emerges from the depths. Meanwhile a dark force threatens to return to Lustria from the sea. Could the two events be linked? Mysteries and skimpy lizard's clothes both await unraveling.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A spawning of skinks was occurring in the crumbling temple-city of Hutal. These events were not a rarity in the jungle-continent of Lustria. Our hero was only one of three hundred other skinks to arise that day in "the city of Awakening" alone. He was, however, one of the first to be born from these particular waters in nearly a millennia while the city's ruins remained dormant. This occasion provoked the interest of one of the architects of the city's reawakening - the young slann known as Lord Chocalba. The memory of the mage-priest who had come to view the spawning would stick with him for the rest of his days. As his brothers of the water swam through the crystal clear reservoir and tested out their bodies - the spawnling was almost entranced by the sight of the mighty mage-priest that watched the event from the edge of the intricate stone lake. This lizardman was a great and bloated creature that vaguely resembled a frog. It's two legs crossed under a colossal gut as it sat upon it's golden palanquin, manifold fingers lazily forming an arcane gesture to keep it's mighty weight hovering over the mossy paving stones of the forgotten city.</p><p>In comparison the young skink was nearly the polar opposite of the mage-priest. His body was provocatively svelte and covered in turquoise scales, fading to a cyan blue near the insides of his thighs and the expanse of his flat stomach. A single frilly fin sat atop his head and it's pale yellow hue marked him as a common spawn. His large reptilian eyes matched the shade of his frill perfectly. And he was a great deal smaller in stature. The new lizardman stood at a mere five feet tall with another three inches to spare if the height of his frill was to be accounted for. There was nothing remarkable about him aside from the circumstances of his birth. The cohort of skinks that attended to Lord Chocalba were similar to the spawnling in their height and physique, all boasting the very same nimble and lean figure, but they all appeared much more exotic in their coloration and ornaments.</p><p>The first rank of the guard were armed with spears that rivaled his height. These red-crested reptiles were spawned to defend a waning empire's leaders. Skinks are not found in armor, and even these guards wore nothing but beaded loincloths and feathered bangles. Just behind the spearmen lay a small contingent of lime green bodies that guarded the flanks of the mage's mighty vessel. They were even less modest than the rest as their choice of wear amounted to glyphic paint across their bare chests, backs, and thighs. A lizard with a skink-like body but strange eyes stood apart with a blowgun gripped in his hands. A creature that he would come to know as a chameleon skink. True to his name he nearly blended into the natural environment even when he wanted his presence to be known. And despite the stealthy nature of the chameleon he nearly missed the acolytes of the greatest importance. A duo of skinks rested upon the palanquin with the slann priest. One of them very nearly sat upon Lord Chocalba's lap, while the other crouched regally upon the arm of the consecrated chair. The skink priests wore ornate orange headdresses and one who crouched upon the chair held a short staff, his cold yellow eyes slowly observing the bodies as more of them emerged from the swamp. The other twin seemed to be nearly asleep, his narrow chest rising and falling in rhyme with the slann lord's own breathing. And yet in his arms was a large clay plaque which he was dutifully chiseling at with nearly trancelike precision.</p><p>And then the digits on Lord Chocalba's hands began to tremble. All but one curled against his palm and the slann-priest leveled the finger towards the pools. The lizardman's eyes were barely open, the lift of his hand almost a great exertion Every skink in the lord's cohort turned their eyes upon his naked body as he stood in the waist-deep water. The lord's bloated lips moved in a soft utterance, and the stoic faces of the chameleon and the largest red-crested guard in the contingent showed a brief glimmer of warm-blooded emotion. Even though he didn't hear what was uttered the blue-scaled spawn sensed a warmth filling his chest. The freshly birthed skink felt a strange need to move his body. He lifted his arms over his head and extended them to their full length, and arched his back to show off the agility and flexibility of his lithe body to the slann and his attendees. He felt a curious tingling just below his tail, a long and plump extremity that lifted out of the water as he brought his entire being forward again and rested upon his hands and knees. He wiggled his hips experimentally, letting out a surprised trill as the curious sensation worked its way down into his thighs and upper legs. The skink priest upon the mage-priest's lap almost seemed to be grinning as he inscribed something onto the sacred plaque, meanwhile the more attentive of the duo slipped down from the floating throne and approached the suggestively posing spawnling.</p><p>The clever hands of the skink priest came to rest upon his slender shoulders and he felt soft digits as they massaged his pliable and overstimulated scales. Those blessed fingers were as light as a feather as they roamed over him and graced the length of his arms, and that warmth within him appeared to intensify tenfold before it faded away. But only for a moment, only to return to a different area of the chosen lizardman's body. Although his limbs did not grow any thicker the skink could feel his body harden as it grew stronger below his hide. The priest was not shy as those hands moved down his torso and caressed his smooth pectoral muscles, the talented digits followed the trail of warmth as it settled in the fellow skink's flat belly. Once more the spawned felt a unique sensation as the fire was quelled and replaced by growing strength, subtle muscle guided through development at an alarming pace. It continued to flee from the touch of his fellow skink, before it came to rest in his narrow rump. He let out a soft trill as he felt the now familiar sensation of those hands as they rubbed along his flanks and outer thighs. The priest met his eyes and he saw the grin upon the lizardman's face moments before those hands pressed themselves upon his backside, the sensitive and pliable scales right below his tail.</p><p>Rather than departing immediately or feeling to another part of his body, the fresh-scale was struck with an even more intense inferno in his muscles. He felt his hips begin to widen by a small margin, and certainly the scaled flesh below his tail had grown more plentiful. The priest's hands caressed the spawnling's new body, a trill mirroring the stimulated young lizardman escaping alongside his slender blue tongue. It was only then that the priest helped him to his feet, placing a hand upon the small of his back as he guided his charge towards the palanquin and the rest of the cohort. Their eyes yet rested upon him, and he noted the stare from the red-crested warriors as well as some of the naked-sans-paint skirmishers. The chameleon in particular had given him a look that he couldn't place. An emotion that rested in the valley between disgust and jealousy. All of them paled in significance as the slann slowly tilted his head down, his chin and belly fat rippling with the slightest locomotion. He spoke again and the spawn listened intently, as did all of the skinks that were in attendance. "Tectli." The toad-like being's voice was like gravel. "You will find him suitable clothes in the barrios. Return to me in the Star Chamber when it is done." And as soon as it arrived, mage's energy waned and he returned to his state of near slumber. The skink at his back, apparently Tectli, turned his charge around and began to guide the naked lizardman towards the valley of crafts. "Red paint or gold? Perhaps some piercings. You must look your best for Lord Chocalba." He barely heard the chirpy voice of his privileged chaperone as they headed away from the sacred lakes.</p><p>The barrios of the skink district were teeming with activity as the artisans of the lizardmen plied their crafts. The naked lizardman could see every variety of creature at work as he walked with Tectli close behind. A diminutive yellow-scaled skink foreman barked orders at a team of massive crocodile-like kroxigors moving great marble blocks, a small party of scribes were recording the few glyphs still legible upon the ancient cracked walls on their clay tablets, and he could see more of the mighty red-crested warriors sharpening their spears and blades. He felt Tectli's hands on his arm and he was pulled aside, narrowly avoiding being barreled through by a procession of chameleon skink hunters. The group of six carried a long pole with a monolithic spider skewered down the center from mandibles to spinnerets. The spawnling thought he heard them giving hissing laughs towards him as they passed. "Let's try and keep that pretty head on your shoulders, skink." He chided. "A stegadon rider would not have waited for you to move aside." He felt a small flush develop in his frill, the bland yellow strained a bright lime color and the white of his scales taking on a purple flush as the lizardman realized his mistake - and began to become more and more aware of his nakedness. Unlike the chameleons who could conceal their bodies or the kroxigors who were covered in natural plates, his soft body had certainly been the object of several artisan's attention. Tectli noticed it as well and took his charge by the hand. "They all have their place in the great plan. Do not distract them, wet-scale." The priest guided him further into the barrios with their talons interlocked.</p><p>He was brought to the far eastern side of the temple-city's crafting plaza. The din of the chisels and the barks of marble-hauling crews was diminished and the more skillful artisans worked peaceably in their own solitary nooks and corners. The spawnling could see messenger skinks sprinting between the stations with raw materials and partially constructed goods, some of them balancing baskets precariously on their heads or their arms stuffed in a cumbersome manner. It was here that the clothing and armor for skinks and the armor for the saurus were crafted, he noted swiftly as he spied freshly minted armor, and headdresses that mirrored the one on Tectli's head, carefully set aside for consecration as well as the more numerous leaf-woven loincloths that had been piled with a lesser degree of reverence. The priest released the grip on the young skink's hand and they both walked towards a grape-skinned saurus that was carefully affixing the final tassel to a hunter's leather harness.</p><p>Tectli bared his needle-sharp teeth in a friendly manner towards the productive purple lizardman. The artisan only acknowledged him after giving each tassel a gentle tug and setting it upon the table. "Tectcli." He said in a gruff and dry voice. "The Old Ones have kept us apart for too long." The ghost of a smile crept upon the more bestial features of the craftsman and it prompted a shaky hiss from the increasingly flustered priest. "Oxa-yl. Your presence ignites Chotek's gift within me." Tectli stated in a sweet crooning tone. "But we are fated to diverge again soon. Lord Chocalba has a keen interest in this one's outfitting." The saurus, Oxa-yl, finally deigned to give the spawnling his attention and a growl rumbled softly in his throat. He stood up slowly from the carved stone chair he had been seated upon, enormous clawed hands pushing against the magnificently gilded stone workbench. He towered over the two other lizardmen - easily two feet taller than them and much broader and muscular in his build. "Let us prepare your lord's newest toy together." He stated slowly, and the priest's long blue tongue squeezed from his slender lips in clear excitement.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miles away from the temple-city of Huatl, on the open seas that battered Lustria's eastern coast, a ghastly ship sailed towards the jungle continent.</p>
<p>The vessel cut a grim and impressive silhouette in the treacherous mist. A path of death followed the dread vessel, withered fish floating to the surface in its wake only to animate themselves into a twisted unlife hours later. The vertical stripes on the vessel's twin sails were once a vibrant red and yellow, but they had faded away over time until the proud Estalian lion could barely be seen. The glaring pockmarks in the hull of the ship told of it's exploits, the wounds of enemy cannons were in equal parts a badge of pride as well as a warning to others that 'The Myrmidia's Lament' would not go down without a fight. A score of corroded and brine-crusted barrels pushed out from both the starboard and port-side of the ship just in case a further incentive was needed. And the crew were just as weathered as the vessel they served. Their withered faces peered out from the portholes they manned, many of them missing eyes, jaws, and any number of other superficial features to a zombie drudge. A party of tireless seamen worked on the deck of the ship, the ruggedly handsome corpse of a Norseman singing a bawdy shanty to keep the dead men moving in tandem.</p>
<p>At the stern of the ship the captain rested in her quarters. The ship's captain was a striking departure from the decrepit zombies that made up the bulk of the crew. Her skin was a soft porcelain and she wore a tri-corn hat atop her head, and long preternaturally white hair hung down to her shoulders. A brown tailcoat was her choice of attire, paired with a white shirt with puffy sleeves and a frilled collar - with her finery she could have been mistaken for a great Fleet Admiral of the Empire to the untrained observer. And yet her ghastly red eyes gave away the woman's true nature. Arcadia Russo clutched the slender neck of a wine glass in her hand as she kicked her feet up onto the table covered in navigation charts. Her perpetually pouted lips were stained red from the prime Bordeleaux wine and it brought the Estalian no small measure of mirth to imagine the vintners reactions to such a creature enjoying their craft. The taste was sweet yet coppery, a byproduct of Arcadia's secret ingredient. Fresh human blood. The vampire flicked her tongue over her elongated fangs after taking another long drink, the intoxicating warmth filling her cadaver with exhilarating energy.</p>
<p>There was a knock on the door to her quarters and Arcadia looked up sharply. The hand not occupied with the concoction of blood and wine came to rest on the black powder pistol that she carried on her hip. Her finger gently worried into the smooth metal grip, a small divot formed in the steel from decades of the same gesture performed by countless other hands. "This has better be worth it." The vampire exclaimed, though her inner thoughts were darker in nature. "Full fathom five, thy bones shall lie.. Struggling and conscious for eternity." But as soon as the doors opened up she felt her irritation depart. Her second in command stepped inside with a tiny hermit crab upon his shoulder. Arcadia removed her hand from her gun and placed it on the table, sweeping her long legs beneath it and thumping the floor as her peg leg planted itself firmly on the planks. The crewman was almost in better condition than herself, his long blonde hair framing regal and soft and fair features. She didn't know from whence he came, perhaps Brettonia or even the pirate city of Sartosa - the bastard result of a fling between a Norscan marauder and dockside whore. But truth be told she didn't care to know. Stefan's past life was irrelevant. Arcadia only cared that he was under her thumb, her servant, her pet. A pretty thing to lavish with attention and enjoy.</p>
<p>"Captain Arcadia, ma'am." The loyal lad chimed as he stood at attention. He may have been the sole living member on the vessel, but his ability to keep his composure before a vampire was impressive. Especially as the pesky little hermit crab he bore scurried around between his shoulders and gently tweaked at one of the blonde seaman's ears. "A message from the Arch-Grand Commodore for you." He dodged the tiny crustacean's claws as he plucked it from his shoulder and placed it on Arcadia's table. The Estalian vampire let out an uncharacteristic coo as she watched the crab walk towards her, and she reached out to caress it on the top of it's head. "What have you got for me, Scuttler?" She murmured fondly, and the creature responded with remarkable cognition as it's body pulled itself into the shell, only emerging with a small glass bottle gripped in it's primary claw. A final nuzzle was awarded as she took the bottle and noted the scrap of parchment inside. "Thank you, Stefan. Now get yourself to your room. As soon as I'm through I'll be paying you a visit." Arcadia flashed a smile that showed off her fangs to the boy and he visibly blanched. "Right away, Miss Captain Ma'am." Stefan turned to leave, struggling to not seem too eager to be out of the vampire's presence. The captain could smell his fear regardless, and it was a fine complement to her bloodied wine - which she indulged herself in another long gulp.</p>
<p>It was only after her glass was emptied three times that she bothered to open the bottle and retrieve the message. It was a small scrap of paper, almost as if it'd been torn from a napkin, and Arcadia immediately realized it was written in blood. "Scuttler. My magnifier." The vampire demanded, snatching the small circular object from the critter's grasp and rewarding another head pat. She leaned forwards and peered through the eye of the magnifying glass, reading the smallest text of the letter. And of course the self-titled Arch-Grand Commodore had chosen to write her name in nigh illegible script. "Captain Arcadia Russo." the letter began, and she noted that the author had seen fit to spell her name correctly this time. A rare sign of respect, even if the man had scrawled it in such a small script. "You will take your boat to the Scorpion Coast of Lustria and secure for me, your Arch-Commodore, the riches of the native scum." The pirate furrowed her brow as she continued reading. "Succeed and be rewarded. The price of failure is suffering beyond measure." The signature at the bottom of the paper took up nearly half of the surface area, and to Arcadia's consternation it was another one of the man's self-imposed titles. "Pirate King Luthor Harkon." Her fingers curled the paper into a crumpled ball and she stood up from her chair, easily finding balance on her long legs. Despite the fact that Arcadia's left foot had been lost to the Galleon's Graveyard, the peg that replaced it was hardly a deterrent. Her movements were graceful and if anything the slightly unique gait made the swivel of her hips even more prominent, though none on her ship had the bravery to admire their captain's swagger in a brazen fashion.</p>
<p>She departed her quarters and stepped onto the deck of the ship, advancing towards the bow to get a view of the distant Lustrian continent. If she squinted her eyes she could see through the fog and make out the outlines of trees that formed the endless canopies of the lizardmen's domain. The bowsprit pointed at the coast like an accusatory finger, and chains wrapped around the pole that extended over the ocean. A single skeleton was bound in the heavy iron chains, nearly bare of clothes aside from scraps of what must have once been a dress fit for a princess. Arcadia looked upon the remains with a hint of a smile on her blood stained lips. "Deirdre. Show yourself, my dear "bow-spirit"." The cruelty of the pun brought her great pleasure. A girl's spirit chained for eternity to the bowsprit of the vampire captain's ship. The syreen appeared before her at her command. Deirdre d'Meredith's spectral form was entirely translucent yet glowed an ethereal green. The long stringy hair of the Brionnon princess hung in her face, her elegant dress clinging to the shapely form of her ghostly body. "You haven't come to release me from this torment, have you?" The Brettonian asked in a hollow and dejected tone of voice. The pirate hummed softly as if she were considering it, but the syreen's face didn't express any hope. It had been bled out of her centuries ago.</p>
<p>It wasn't a crushing blow when Arcadia responded as she always did. "Not today, my dear. Who would be the figurehead to my ship without you, Deirdre?" A dull kernel of hatred boiled in the spirit's core. It only grew hotter as the vampire continued speaking. "I need you to pay Setfan a visit on my behalf. Your captain is a very busy woman." Deirdre felt that knot of hatred swell up into her lungs, and she let out an ear-splitting shriek. It was the only way she could express her rage, the vile compulsions of Arcadia's magic rendering her as compliant as a kitten. "Be sure to do that thing he likes, dear." The captain stated, as unmoved as the rest of the unliving crew to the outburst by the unfortunate soul. She turned away from the syreen and stared out across the waters, slender fingers cupping against her chin. A single thought sprang into her head. "I wonder what their cold blood will taste like."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Hold him still, my old friend. But mind your claws. The freshly birthed are not as sturdy as sturdy as I am." The skink priest instructed the artisanal saurus who's scaled hands were wrapped around the third naked lizardman. The blue-scaled skink could feel the power in the saurus warrior's hands as one of them gripped around his slender middle, and the other easily held both of his wrists over the helpless spawnling's head. The restrained skink felt his feet leave the comforting warmth of the stone below, and he couldn't suppress a slightly perturbed hiss. His head tipped down to spy Tectli, the pious skink's yellow eyes devouring the sight of the supple form that hung so powerlessly before him. The young skink's gaze drifted towards the elaborate stone table where the tools for "outfitting" him were laid out. A vast array of colorful paints sat in small clay vessels, a glass jar containing a colorful frog caught his attention as well as the small collection of curved needles that lay beside, sorted in a descending order of sizes. There were golden ornaments, ranging from small golden rings and square jade piercings. Beyond that he could see the clothes he was destined to wear. They were simple and composed of supple hides, but like all lizardmen attire they clearly provided very little coverage of the body. It amounted to a loincloth and a small vest.</p>
<p>Tectli was impressed both by the gentleness of the mighty saurus, years of crafting and creation untraining Oxa'yl's instincts to crush and dominate, but even more amazing was the delectable body that was suspended before him. "The Old Ones' designs can be difficult to understand." He murmured softly. "But their work is sometimes self evident." The lizardman breathed in deeply as he reached out to touch the younger skink, his claws delicately stroking from his collarbone, over his flat belly, and finally against his bare pelvis. It provoked a deep reaction as the lithe figure squirmed and hissed under the fingers he was very familiar with now. "This is perfection." And the fruitless squirming only grew more intense as the priest dipped the tip of his claw in green paint and applied it in deliberate fashion to the spawnling's upper body. As a coldblooded skink the spawnling's chest was as flat as a board under his scales, providing a perfect blank canvas for Tectli to work with. A pair of semicircles were first painted upon the torso in an echo of warmblooded anatomy, and soon the pious priest was absorbed in the task, placing saurian glyphs where he deemed them most fitting. The job was finished quickly, and Tectli washed his fingers in a small basin of water, before delicately retrieving the colorful amphibian. It must have been dazed as it was compliant in the skink's gentle fingers, the priest was careful not to touch the back of it as he began to apply the creature to the young skink's face as if it were a sponge. It was cold, wet, and it made his face feel tingly where it was applied..</p>
<p>Oxa'yl was having a difficult time observing the dutiful work of the priest of Chotec as he painted the younger skink and inscribed him with glyphs of power. He felt a familiar stirring from the core of his being. His hand clenched tighter around the smaller lizardman's form and he let out a growl that was more fitting for a crocodilian kroxigor than a true saurus such as himself. The warrior turned artisan was blind to the increased discomfort, the hiss of pain and the meek writhing of the painted lizard. Oxa'yl felt sick to his stomach as he tried not to focus on the svelte and appealing bodies of the two before him. "Think upon Tlazcotl. You must be as impassive as the mountain." The saurian reminded himself. "Sheath yourself in your faith. Just as you wish to sheath yourself in.." He shook his head slowly and growled, pushing the tainted thought aside. It was not his own. A side effect of his shameful mutation. Even now he could feel the twin snakes threatening to rise between his thighs, to spill out and escape their internal prison. The swollen red tips of his hemipenis began to emerge from a wound in his purple hide. The more that this spawnling flailed, every time his old friend Tectli let out an approving hiss and surveyed his work, the saurus felt more pink flesh begin to slide out into the open air of the outer bario. "Tectli.." His words shook as much as the skink he restrained. The priest of Chotec knew what ailed his friend and he let out a soft sigh. "Your curse is awakened. Like the forked tongue of sotek, seeking prey. But a skilled predator knows patience. Allow me to finish my duty to Lord Chocalba." Oxa'yl felt his heart sink, but only for a moment as his friend elbatored. "Before I may begin my duty to you, Oxa'yl."</p>
<p>The skink replaced the front and took up a needle from the workbench. He aligned it with the blue-skinned lizardman's left nostril and gently eased the curved metal through his scales. He was still softer than most, his spawning not even hours past, and the numbing toxin from the frog meant that he merely felt a gentle pinch as the task was performed. It was repeated three more times, and golden rings were inserted by skilled and familiar hands. Two of them upon each nostril that complimented his blue hide well. His fellow skink hissed softly as Tectli patted him upon his short snout. "Quetzal'ko." He murmured softly as he peered into the skink's eyes. "Your name." He explained as he eyed his handiwork, unable to stop from sneaking a glance at Oxa'yl's protruding issue. The priest's tongue flicked out on instinct, and the deep and needy musk of the saurus was nearly overpowering. "And now, Quetzal'ko. Let us take on your first duty." The saurus shifted on his powerful, clawed feet, his talons digging small trenches into the ancient stone as he anticipated how Tectli would make the first move.</p>
<p>And Tectli marveled at the sight of his saurus companion's curse. The hemipenes were fully erect and both of them were just under eight inches in length. An angry red color with glans that were wreathed in small bumps, the priest was overwhelmed by the deep and primal aroma that exuded from them. But this priest of Chotec was not a fool. Lizardmen were spawned from the sacred waters of their temple-cities, they were not birthed from the clumsy coupling of bodies like the primitive warmbloods. This tool was the result of corruption. And Tectli was eager to attend to the wicked mutation in the only way he had learned thus far. He brushed the feathers of his headdress back from his face, his features shadowed by the unnatural erection, a deep breath inhaling the aroma for a final time before he stretched his skillful blue tongue from his lizard-like maw. That flexible tongue of his gently wrapped itself around the saurian artisan's lower phallus, while he attended to it's twin with the attentive stroking and caress of his free hand. Oxa'yl was a man of few words, only prone to emotion when he was suffering from his unique affliction, so it brought Tectli great pleasure to squeeze low hisses, groans, and growls from the lizardman's throat.</p>
<p>But that pleasure was not on the same level as that which the saurian was experiencing. His shafts were burning as no coldblooded member should, a constant leak of sappy and clear essence staining the tongue of his studious friend. His powerfully muscled hips began to move forward, until the tip of his lower hemipenis gently collided with the snout of the priest. The devotee of Chotec was all too willing to accommodate his desires, the needle-like teeth of the skink forgotten as he pushed into a warm and inviting mouth. His grip on Quetazal'ko was tightened, but this time had no reaction. The young skink was transfixed by the act. The sound of the coupling filled his ears, the tantalizing smell overpowered all others, and that heat below his tail returned. Although he had no genitalia of his own, lacking the accursed mutation of Oxy'al, he became acutely aware of the orifice tucked under his tail as his fellow skink's one free hand delved between his supple, scaled cheeks to seek it out.</p>
<p>It hurt to be penetrated. Quetzal'ko learned immediately as a digit buried itself up to the knuckle inside of him with a lack of ceremony or preparation. He whined softly as he was slowly but roughly pumped. His tight ring of muscle slowly stretched to accommodate it's new purpose, the pain replaced by a curious sensation that made the young skink's toes curl and his forked tongue flick at the air in a frenzy. He felt a second digit begin to pry at his backdoor and he tried to protest, but the words died in his throat, replaced by a choked hiss of pain as Tectli's digits filled his guts. The rough hand of the saurian soon removed itself from his hip and eagerly palmed along his plump asscheeks, tenderizing his supple scaled rump with rough squeezes and spanks.</p>
<p>Tectli pulled his face away from Oxa'yl's crotch with a soft panting breath. He grinned deviously at Quetzal'ko as he continued to toy with his rectum, and observe the way that the artisanal saurus abused and enjoyed the spawnling's soft and seductive body. He slowly removed his fingers from the young skink's abused hole, before aligning the upper shaft's bump-crowned tip with the slightly gaping entrance. The saurus let out a pleased growl as he immediately hilted into the smaller lizardman's backside. All eight inches vanished, the lower shaft drooling wasted pre-seed as the mutated saurus sated his body's perverse desires, his thrusting becoming as bestial and erratic as a feral bastiladon in a battle frenzy. The priest of Chotec grinned at the display, before dipping his finger into the red paint and gently tracing a new glyph upon Quetzal'ko's belly. It was a difficult task as his perfectly flat, scaled middle deformed on the apex of each vicious thrust, but as Tectli pulled away he left behind the unmistakable pictorial glyph of spawning. "You are doing my friend a great service, Quetzal'ko." He murmured softly, before his focus turned towards the saurian. His typically blank and inscrutable features were twisted in savage passion. "We will find a cure for your affliction, old friend, but until then.. Allow us to be your medicine."</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Xunati stood on the stern of the stone ship and looked out over the horizon, his arms raised as the temple-ship sailed along the Scorpion Coast of Lustria. The feeling of the seaspray gracing his scales, the wind in his frills, and of course the faint blue pinpricks of light from the heavens - all of these things brought the skink priest great comfort. In times like these the skink priest almost felt like a spawnling again, his mind brought back to his first waking memories in the sacred pools of Tlencan. Even though his blue scales lacked the sea-green hues of a true blessed spawn, he felt perfectly at home upon the water.</p><p>The skink's yellow eyes were partially lidded as he focused on the faint trails of blue mist from on high. Xunati once feared the sight of such disturbances, phenomena that his fellow lizardmen seemed blind to, but with proper instruction he saw it as another piece in the puzzle that was the Great Plan. The boons of old ones could be gained if he merely reached out and allowed a greater power to manifest itself within him. He was vaguely cognizant of the crewmembers moving around him. They seemed to have a sudden sense of urgency to them. Or Xunati perceived a change in their usual calm and collected behaviors. The perceptions of time were strange to him when he was in a period of reflection, and he merely assumed it was a sign that he was in a state of greater communion with Tzunki than usual.</p><p>It was when the skies changed that he became more aware of the environment on the ship. The clouds were heavy and supernaturally dark, slowly lowering in a fog that caused the skink rowers to slow their progress. The great stone temple-ship stalled as the clouds came down to become a deep mist, heavy and almost suffocating. Xunati felt a strange sensation of dread clawing at his scale from all sides. Xunati extended his staff and emptied his mind. The winds entered into the vessel of his staff, a sensation that the skink priest was familiar with. He did not usually plan ahead when it came time to call upon his gift, and this was no different. The proper incantation entered into his mind as if placed there by a greater power. And for all Xunati knew that was exactly from whence these inspirations sprung.</p><p>A sensation of great elation blossomed in Xunati's narrow chest as he released his spell. His will was made manifest, the pinpricks of light penetrating the unnatural and harmful fog before forming a mighty solar flare, sundering the heavy mist as a machete would cut through the dense growth of the jungle. The skink felt a smile spread across his muzzle as he watched the crew's morale return, inspired by the work of their priest, the skinks began to row forwards and the saurians relaxed their guard. It was much too late that Xunati noticed a crooked wooden spire poking out from below the water.</p><p>Under the waves..</p><p>Arcadia Russo stared at the underside of the stone ship. She couldn't help but wonder how such things could possibly be seaworthy, one of the many mysteries that surrounded the strange lizards of the jungle continent. Her hand gently adjusted the tricorn hat atop her head, long white hair flowing around her neck in an unruly manner. One of the downsides of this tactic was sacrificing, however briefly, her dreadfully majestic facade.</p><p>The vampire's eyes drifted to the crew that congregated on the deck of her ship. Her second in command was not far from her side. Linda Schiffman's sunken features stared back at her captain, and she grinned to show off several golden teeth. The ghoulish gunner wore similar attire to the captain, though it was visibly tattered. Instead of a matching cap, the woman of Nuln wore a bandana that obscured her missing left eye. Arcadia had gone through great pains to restore Schiffman's body, but naturally she had to ensure that her gunnery wight did not lift a candle to her own personal beauty. When Linda spoke her words were obfuscated by the water, but her captain easily understood the meaning. Her crew was ready to make their move. Her gaze turned to note the recently "recruited" norscan marauders organizing into a somewhat orderly boarding party. Even in death they had impressively broad shoulders and were quite muscular. These traits were shown off quite brazenly by the lack of armor, bare chests and leather britches being the only articles of clothing that the men of the frozen wastes chose to wear. Arcadia could appreciate the burly physique of these savage men, but they didn't quite capture her attention like Stefan.</p><p>She smiled to herself at the thought of the sole living member of her crew. He was relegated to her quarters any time the "Myrmidia's Lament" waited below the water, and she could feel his heart beating fast from her place atop the middle of the vessel. His vampiric mistress held his life in her hands more literally at times like these than ever before, his breathing only possible as long as she maintained a passive cantrip. A blessing of deep magic, a twisted discipline from the Galleon's Graveyard, she could revoke it at any moment. Arcadia felt her smile develop a cruel twist as she briefly stole the boy's breath away, a moment of primal terror whetting her appetite as she bestowed her gift upon him again with a mere whim. And it was another simple thought that brought the entire vessel surging upwards, the bowsprit piercing through the surface of the water like a couched Bretonnian lance. A fitting analogy given the remains that were perpetually chained upon it.</p><p>The templeship had no time to act evasively as the ghostly vessel surfaced alongside it. The portholes opened up on the western side of the ship, the corroded husks of carronades protruding in a technique performed dozens of times before by the decrepit crew of the deathly ship. The lizard-crewed ship was struck repeatedly by iron rounds, the sturdy hull chipped and smashed against by artillery. Linda Schiffman and her band of milky-eyed crackshots raised their blackpowder rifles, their shots aimed at the crew that stood upon the deck of the ship. Even though she held her pistol in her hand, Captain Arcadia merely watched the first strike with a ghastly smile on her face.</p><p>A volley of grapeshot would have cleared the deck under normal circumstances, but the lizardmen's scaled hides seemed to shrug off the projectiles with unnatural efficiency. As the smoke cleared, Arcadia was shocked to see that only a few among ranks of the enemy had fallen victim to her overwhelming firepower. It was then that she realized why that was the case. A meddlesome skink stood at the back of the ship, his arms raised and a staff brandished in his hand - no doubt a crude ritual of protection was empowering these creatures. It was almost a lazy manner in which she lifted her arm, leveling her aim with the skink's lithe little torso.</p><p>Dark tendrils of ethereal magic drifted up from below both vessels like the arms of a kraken, unseen by any but the vampiric captain. The unwholesome winds of Shyish congregated around her vessel. The entirety of the "Myrmidia's Lament" was heavy with all things that called out to the powers of Death. A moving conduit that enhanced Arcadia's powers three-fold. She felt her aim tighten, an unholy dexterity surging into her nimble fingers. And she took the shot.</p><p>Back upon the temple-ship..</p><p>Xunati felt a sharp pain in his chest. His concentration snapped immediately and he collapsed to his knees, his hand clutching at the small geyser of cold blood that spewed out from his body. His pain was secondary, his attention turned to his companions as they fell into defensive positions below him. Saurus warriors brandished their obsidian armaments, a large group of skinks prepared to unleash a barrage of javelins upon the attackers in retaliation. The skink's hand trembled as he removed a clump of medicinal herbs and pushed it against his wound, packing it to staunch the flow. The pain fled from him, his mind sharpening as Xunati barked an order. "Move with Tzunki's breath at your tails! Make for the bloodied isles!" The skink navigator at his side understood immediately, and began to direct the mastless ship forwards with surprising speed.</p><p>The stone hull was hit with another series of shots, the carved surfaces cracking against the barrage and yet holding strong. Xunati looked over his shoulder as he watched the pirate's ship slip behind him. The masts unfurled, revealing the barely visible and leering visage of the Estalian lion. It could only mean that these insturders meant to give chance. He looked ahead, spying in the distance the three small islets that "bloodied isles" or "island of sacrifice". They were connected by a sandbar to form a homogeneous mass, though only at certain times of the year as the sea rose and fell around the islets. A treacherous place that had claimed the lives of invaders in the past. "Beach us upon the sand." The skink priest demanded coldly. His order was not questioned, the lizardmen bracing themselves as the stone temple-ship's flat bottom came to rest upon the sandbar that protruded slightly from the shallow water.</p><p>Xunati turned towards the incoming ship. He watched as they began to drift, the intention of peppering the defenseless aft end of the ship with carronade fire. A mischievous, fanged smirk creased his muzzle as he waited for the pirates to drift close enough. The lights from on high glimmered brilliantly, and once more he raised his staff towards the energies that empowered him. A gust of wind filled the sails of the "Myrmidia's Lament" and it was pushed towards the islet.</p><p>Moments before the Myrmidia's Lament ran aground..</p><p>Arcadia Russo gripped the railing as she felt the vessel begin to drift towards the treacherous islet. Her livid red eyes stared up at the sails of her ship, full of unnatural wind that pushed her vessel towards her prey. "Lower the masts, you rotbrains!" She screamed, and unliving drudges scrambled to obey. The lion of Estalia began to vanish as tattered fabric folded away with startling speed and efficiency.</p><p>But it was much too late to correct the mistake.</p><p>The "Myrmidia's Lament" was out of her control as it careened into the rocks and tipped over onto the sand. Her already cracked side shattered itself open, and zombies began to spill out like blood from a fresh wound. Arcadia's unnatural grip prevented her from tumbling to meet the dirt in an embarrassing fashion, even as she spied Linda Schiffman sprawled out over the body of a blonde marauder. "You'll have time for that later, Schiffman, now get on your feet!" She pointed towards her second in command. The gunnery wight's binding forced her to comply, her body lurching itself onto its with jerky and unnatural motions.</p><p>The Nuln-man was suppressed as her vampiric master spoke through her body. "Avast yer whining, ship rats! Prepare for a counter attack and defend my colors, or I'll be patching my ship with your bones!" The bodies of the norscan marauders and the shambling, cadaveric seamen formed a disorderly mass. A vaguely defensive position. The wight regained herself and rallied the surviving gunnery crew as Arcadia relinquished direct control. She kept an eye on her second in command, a fanged and bittersweet grin of approval crossing her face as she watched the brunette begin to salvage a carronade from the tipped over vessel.</p><p>Her men were not physically adept. But the difference in power between a zombie and a saurian was easy to make up in raw gunpowder. As the large lizardmen disembarked from their ship and came to meet them on the sandbar, she was pleased to see a greater number of the vile beasts cut down under a hail of black powder. In a skirmish there was no contest. The scales only just began to grow even as the two front lines collided.</p><p>Arcadia was satisfied with the carnage being put out by Linda and her gunners, but the marauders were leaving quite a lot to be desired. A lack of self preservation meant they were cut down alarmingly quickly by the larger saurus infantry, and the captain began to consider the fact she'd soon need to exert herself or risk being pushed back into the sea. A very tiresome turn of events. She placed her pistol upon her hip, trading it for her trusty cutlass which she gave a few experimental swings. It had been a long time since she'd used it. But even longer since she'd gotten another old friend involved in a fight.</p><p>The vampiric pirate placed two fingers between her lips and whistled over the din of the battle. The wound that had been carved into the ship's underbelly suddenly grew in size as an enormous crab emerged from within the hull, pulling itself onto the beach and stretching it's many legs. Arcadia dropped down from the beached ship's deck, landing perfectly upon the shell and crossing her legs from atop her unconventional steed. She scanned the field for the problematic skink spellcaster, but she failed to find him. Her disappointment did not last, as instead her eyes landed on a scarred and battered saurus warrior that was cutting the left side of her forces to ribbons.</p><p>The leviathan crab trampled recklessly towards the saurus warrior. It was upon him with lightning speed, a crab claw almost the size of a man coming down to smash against the lizardman's body. It was deflected by a quickly raised shield, but the veteran growled as the rusted swords of the seamen battered his exposed torso. The scarred saurus shrugged these blows off as best as he could as he kept his shield held high, the crab's incessant strength bearing down on him from above.</p><p>And then it dissipated. A shrill shriek left the crab's mandibles and it routed. The eerie beauty that mounted it hopped off, her porcelain features displaying barely disguised disgust at her steed's cowardice. It was no doubt the work of that cowardly mage, or perhaps more than one of them. Her cutlass leveled evenly towards the scar veteran, a challenge that he understood and would not back down from.</p><p>Her blade sang as it cut through the air, slicing against the scaled man's spear-toting arm and drawing thick, tar-like blood. A grievous blow that would have severed the limb of a human or elf, but instead just added another scar to the tapestry of his scales. His relation was a little too slow to catch the vampire as he jabbed his spear towards her shins. She lept over his strike, showing surprising agility for someone with a pegleg, and lunged towards his chest with the lethal edge of her cutlass.</p><p>This time she was not fast enough to evade him. The scar veteran threw down his shield, catching the creature by her throat and hoisting her off of her feet. His clawed grip squeezed against her windpipe, struggling to choke the life out of her. And proved to be his fatal mistake. He felt an overwhelming sense of dread, before his vision flashed red for one moment and went entirely dark in the next.</p><p>Arcadia would have cackled if she didn't have her neck gripped by a lizardman in his death throes. The veteran's eyes exploded outwards in an eruption of gore, his scars opening up and spewing like many faucets in a grand fountain. The captain opened her mouth and caught the flow greedily, pushing the arm of the dying aside as she drank heavily of the intoxicating, cold blood.</p><p>The sight of the old warrior's fall was a great boon to the pirate's forces. And as the Estalian captain openly fed from the body of their leader, it wasn't long before the lizardmen's forces started to turn and route en masse. The skinks first cast down their javelins and sprinted for the water, their aquatic nature making their escape likely. As for the surviving saurus, they fought to the last, but didn't really stand a chance. Without skinks to pad out their army and act as fodder for the gunners, the thinned numbers made them easy prey for Linda to pick off using her carronade with lethal accuracy.</p><p>At the end of the battle the vampire Captain finally turned her attention towards the beached templeship. She gathered the surviving marauders to her side along with her ghoulish gunnery wight, and slowly marched towards their prize as the seamen began to make repairs on the "Myrmidia's Lament". The winds of death were strong all around her, and Arcadia cherished the thick coppery aftertaste on her tongue and the cold sensation of fullness in her belly. A battle, a meal, and now a treasure. Today was a good day.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sole living member aboard the "Myrmidia's Lament" rested in his quaters. It was a small room to be sure, but undeniably a much better accommodation than the rest of the crew were afforded. No other member of the crew had their own quarters aside from the Captain herself, though Stefan wondered if enough of their minds remained to desire such things. A writing desk sat beside the door, and a luxurious bed rested directly across from it, draped in the finest silks that piracy could acquire. Stefan was not under any illusions that his luxuries came from a place of genuine love that the captain had for him. He was fully aware that he was a pet, a curiosity, something to appeal to Captain Russo's eccentric desires.</p>
<p>Stefan felt a sudden chill enter his cabin as he reclined on his bed. His first reaction was to pull his covers up to his chin, but the exquisite silken sheets did nothing to abate it. And he perceived a gentle tug from the foot of his bed, his hands holding fast for a moment as he fought against the unseen intruder's intent. "Stefan.. There's no need to fight me." A voice came from every corner of the room. Even though he could not see her, he knew it was a syreen, and despite the innate aura of dread she carried he felt a sense of comfort as he recognized her voice. He relinquished his grip without a word, his eyebrow briefly raised as he watched the Arabyian blankets glide down his body.</p>
<p>The cabin-boy never wore a shirt to bed, and the chill grew more intense as his broad chest was revealed. Stefan's legs were covered by a baggy set of sailing slops, a snake-skin belt tightly hooked around his waist, but he felt spectral fingers already beginning to fiddle with his belt. The man cleared his throat and hesitantly shifted on the bed, reclining on his elbows as he tipped his head down towards his waist, watching as his belt came undone and slowly guided itself across the room. He felt unseen palms come to a rest on his hips, where they paused..</p>
<p>"Deirdre.. I won't force you to do this." He stated firmly as he noted her hesitance.</p>
<p>"You and I both know that I have no choice." The syreen responded.</p>
<p>His slops were drawn down his hips to reveal the smallclothes the cabin-boy wore below. Already he strained against them, a tent pitched like a ship's central mast. "Besides.. I want to do this." Deirdre d'Meredith's disembodied voice came again. Stefan felt his protests die in his throat as the spectre dragged the final scrap of cloth down the curve of his rump, settling forgotten between his knees. A cold kiss against the crown of his shaft brought a soft moan to his lips, his lower body gently rocking into his unseen partner's touch.</p>
<p>Deirdre d'Meredith diminished her degree of intangibility at will. At first a small wisp of light that grew until her entire form was visible, knelt upon his bed with her face against his shaft. Her hair hung in her face, her seagreen lips perched upon the crown of his member. The syreen waited until she saw the glimmer of recognition behind Stefan's eyes, before she turned her head and slowly glided his length down into her spectral form. Every inch of his modest length entered through her cheek, a pleasant cold stroking along his every inch as she began to slowly bob her head.</p>
<p>Stefan let out a soft gasp as he watched the Brettonian spirit. His heat felt as if it were being leached away, attempting to satiate a deep craving for living warmth that this fallen Princess harbored. It was not an unpleasant sensation, his cock was not assaulted by pins and needles or a numbing icy grip. It was not so different from a living woman's mouth when he ignored the chill, the strange ectoplasm that made up Deirdre's form surrounded and dripped off of his shaft like saliva, and his toes curled as he felt it dribble down his shaft and tease his needy scrotum. He reached out in an attempt to brush the syreen's hair out of her face, but of course his hand passed through her body and his cheeks grew hot and flustered.</p>
<p>He could have sworn that the spirit laughed around his shaft, the corners of her mouth curled mirthfully as she dragged her face from his lap. The cabin-boy watched as she straightened her posture, a single hand lowering to lazily glide over his ghost-slick member. Stefan did not bother to stifle his moans as he pushed into her touch again. His spectral lover gently lifted the hem of her dress, baring her naked legs to his greedy gaze. If he squinted, he could just barely make out the straps of a garter belt attached to very risque lingerie. The ghostly hand not currently tending to his needs sank itself between those lovely thighs as Deidre rubbed at her own crotch. He wondered if it actually felt good, or if she was doing it solely for his benefit..</p>
<p>A knock on the door interrupted the cabin-boy's musings. It swung inwards immediately and he saw the gaunt face of Linda Schiffman peering at the two of them with her own good eye. If the zombie was surprised by it she did not make it obvious. "All hands are going down with the ship. Get your arse to Captain Russo's quarters." The gunnery wight glanced at Deirdre's transparent butt and corrected herself. "Arses, rather." Her eye fixated upon the shaft that the Brettonian princess's incorporeal hand hovered near, and a curious hum was on her lips as she turned and left the pair again.</p>
<p>Stefan felt his erection straining against his pants as he walked down the hall. He longed for his baggy slops that made up his nightclothes instead of the tight leather britches of his proper sailing attire. It wasn't a coincidence, either. Captain Russo had made an executive decision to make his pleasure as uncomfortable an experience as possible - unless it was on her terms. He knew her too well to attribute it to mere negligence. He could feel the syreen at his back, and her presence hastened his steps slightly as he passed the other members of the crew. The cabin-boy tried his best not to look the dead men in the eyes. Although not exactly a superstitious man, he was still a sailor at heart, and the lifeless, cold stares still made his very skin tremble in revulsion.</p>
<p>The strange duo entered the captain's cabin and Stefan made his way across it, slowly sitting himself down upon the lavish chair that sat before a table covered in charts, maps, and other instruments for cartography and navigation. He wasn't sure how such delicate things always escaped damage from the water when Arcadia decided it was time to submerge the ship, but he had given up trying to understand the workings of magic a long time ago.</p>
<p>His legs parted as he pushed the chair closer to the table, the syreen taking her place between the man's legs. Stefan briefly lifted his butt off the chair, allowing her to slide his pants down his legs. The spirit was eager to return to her "unfinished business". Her ghostly tongue ran in circles around the head of his shaft, provoking another deep moan as she teased all of the most sensitive places upon his manhood.</p>
<p>The ghastly fellatio took his mind off of the fact that the cabin was starting to fill with water. It was a slow progression, but he felt the cold wet touch of it upon his toes. The entire floor was soon evenly spread with water. And it was coming in faster as the ship was guided towards the ocean floor. It became harder to focus on that talented tongue as the water reached up to his waist, and impossible as it encompassed his shoulders.</p>
<p>Stefan took a deep breath as the water in the room reached, and quickly surpassed his nose. His short blonde hair floated around his face in an unkempt manner, and he tucked his body closer to the desk. His partner was not deterred at all by the sinking of the ship, and if anything the cabin-boy could have sworn he felt her efforts doubled. She felt strangely more tangible than usual, frigid lips surrounding the very tip of his prick, a hand vigorously pumping along his shaft to tease out his vital essence.</p>
<p>It felt amazing. His scrotum tucked up closer to his body, the very tip of his shaft trembled and pulsated under the hands of the dead woman, and he felt the floodgates rising. His semen was squeezed and stroked out of him, milking the living man for all that he could provide. Stefan felt his breath restored as the Captain invoked her magic upon him. He shivered, a hand parting from his throat as he felt unnatural air begin to enter his lungs. And then he turned down to admire his handiwork.</p>
<p>The cabin-boy gasped let out a startled yelp, bubbles leaving his mouth in a jet as he saw both Linda Schiffman and Deirdre d'Meredith knelt before him. The zombie's lips were coated with his sperm and she audibly swallowed his load, the hand of the syreen clutched his shaft as she stroked it off in front of the deteriorated woman's features. Linda Schiffman gave his erection a parting kiss, and he shuddered as her rotted lips smooched firmly against his living skin. She got up from under the table and sauntered towards the door, allowing the human a moment of privacy with the syreen.</p>
<p>Stefan was spent. His shaft grew limp and he smiled faintly as he watched Deirdre help him slide his britches and smallclothes back on. She arose to stand beside him, taking one of the human's hands in her own spectral grip, their fingers interlacing. The spirit peered at him fondly before speaking aloud, her spectral body unimpeded by the water as a flesh and bone one would be.</p>
<p>"I wasn't compelled to finish you off. I hope you appreciated that." The Brettonian gently ran her hands through his floating hair, a soft hum passing through pursed lips as she gathered it into a short ponytail and restrained it with one of her own ghastly hair ties. Stefan just leaned back in his vampiric mistress's chair and smiled. It was a strange situation he had found himself in, but it was a rare moment where he found utter contentment.</p>
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